The gentleman and the maid
by Yvetal
Summary: The gentleman with the thistle-down hair meets a new lady friend. GentlemanXOFC Please excuse some of the formatting/capitalisation. My word processor has an autocorrecting problem with which I constantly do battle. Rated T for now, but may change.
1. Chapter 1

People always speak of how Mr. Strange and Mr. Norrells publications inspired more and more Englishmen to become magicians, but they do not venture to fathom how such writings might influence other persons. As word of their fame spread, others began to consider how magic might make their own lives a little easier. A simple maid, a wistful Irish girl, might pluck the discarded magazine from a pile of papers on her master's desk and people would presume she meant to throw it out with the armful of papers she had already gathered. No-one would think for a moment that she meant to read it.

As soon as she had a spare moment, she dashed upstairs and locked the magazine away in a metal box under her bed, where she kept her mother's Rosary, a book of Celtic legends, and various other precious and forbidden things. That night she would sit up by her candle and cut out all of the most interesting parts. The rest she would shred up by hand and dispose of.

This kept her informed, but it did not sate her curiosity, which had only grown more ravenous as tales of feats drifted over from the Peninsula. She wished to do magic, even if it was nothing so spectacular. So you can imagine the delight she felt when an opportunity finally presented itself.

Her master and his brother (a vicious brute of a man who spent his life tormenting the female servants whenever he visited) were sitting on opposite sides of the fire, each absorbed in his own reading and happily ignoring the other, when the former harumphed and rustled his newspaper.

"What do you think of all this magical nonsense flying about, Art?" He asked his brother.

The other lowered his book in order to fix the back of the Times with a good glare, as though he could read what his brother had been prompted by through the page, and did not like what he found there. "It's just as you said, Frank. Nonsense! Whatever happened to blowing a man to pieces with a canon?"

Her master chuckled. "Proper warfare!"

The two mused over this for a few minutes, each feigning the knowledge attributed to men of war, despite the fact that they had never fired a gun in their lives. She was fetching the whiskey from the cabinet by the wall and paused in her pouring when she heard her master say "Do you remember Uncle Martin and his spells?"

His brother scoffed. "All that rubbish - visions in silver basins and speaking with faeries!"

"Mad. Absolutely mad!" Her master shook his head, laughing. "Where's that whiskey, girl!"

She jumped as he suddenly bellowed this last remark, spilling some alcohol over her hand. "C-coming, Sir!"

"Impossible to find good help these days." the brother sneered, eyeing the girl in a way that made her shudder inwardly.

"Indeed." her master agreed, shaking out his paper once more.

"Whatever happened to his books？" His brother pondered.

"Hmmm？"

"Martin's books." He explained. "I recall him having a dozen or so of the things."

"Oh imagine they're still in the library." Her master, who had never had a mind to read anything vaguely stimulating, peered over the top of the page. "You don't intend on reading them, do you？"

"Heavens no！" His brother protested. "I was thinking you should sell them to this Norrell fellow！"

"Are you mad！" her master cried. "I'll not have anyone thinking I condone such pastimes！"

"You're right enough in that, I suppose." his brother sighed, seeing he was getting into one of those tempers the physician had warned him about. "They've probably crumbled to dust by now, anyway."


	2. Chapter 2

Best as she tried, she could not sleep that night, as visions of books of magic danced through her mind. As soon as she girl in the next bed began to snore, she threw a heavy shawl about her shoulders and groped her way out of their chilly little garret room.

She had been born and raised in this house; her mother had been the seniormost maid until her death five years prior. Now, at the age of just twenty-three, her daughter had taken over her role. There were others who were older and more experienced, but none of them had the mettle or skill to lead the days tasks, so the position fell to her. None of them knew the house as well as she, either; even in the dead of night, when all was black, she could find her way from the attic to the library with no trouble.

She winced when the door groaned against moving on its rusty hinges, pausing to listen for noises from upstairs. When none came, she coaxed it slowly open and eased it to behind herself. There was a cabinet by the wall, upon which stood an old brass lamp. It was so ancient, it used candles rather than oil and had caused burns to most of the people in the house. She fished in the drawers until she found some matches and candles. Finally in the comfortable glow of a merry flame, she tucked the matches and two more candles into her pockets and tiptoed into the depths of the library.

If you are at the moment imagining a place akin to library at Hurtfew, I am sorry to disappoint you, for this small and eclectic collection would have given such a respectable magician a headache fit to incapacitate him for an entire afternoon. It was not so much a library as a large room filled with freestanding oak shelves, some containing books, while most were packed with various nicknacks and oddments from his Lordship Francis Fitzgerald Senior (the current master's more adventurous father)'s travels.

It was easy enough to find the books she had come for: they were being used to prop up the bottommost shelf of the case nearest a lone (yet rather grand) writing desk. By inserting another neglected tome into its place in some sort of tedious stacking game, the maid could inspect each of the volumes in succession. Most of them had more to do with magicians than they did with magic, causing her to replace them promptly with a dissatisfied huff. Whenever she managed to come across something she deemed important, she did something which would give our dear a heart attack: she tore out the page. No-one would miss it, anyway.

Having carefully (and literally) extracted everything of value from the books, the maid sat down at the desk and began to sift through her little bundle of pages. There was a spell to stop a man's heart, one to make objects move according to one's instructions, another to ensure that one would never have to cross paths with a person they disliked...and one that described how to summon a fairy. The last one was fairly long and took up four pages including details of the proper forms and advice to consider when dealing with a member of such a tricksy race. The girl, herself being one of a notably tricky race, rolled her eyes at these and turned her eyes to the spell itself. It appeared to be in Latin - a language she had never learned herself, but many of the hymns that her mistress was so fond of making the servants sing at Christmas were in the same language, and it had made a distinct (if not pleasant) impression upon her. Unthinking, she began to recite the spell quietly to herself, and despite the halting, accented manner in which she spoke, she actually said it quite nearly perfectly.

She did not notice a change in the air, such as people often say accompanies feats of magic. Truth be told, she was so focused on her page that she dismissed the waft of thick, pregnant wind as a draft and pulled her shawl tighter about her shoulders. As the words came to an end, however, she did notice the smell - that of a young forest in summer, fresh pines and a bright sky with soft bracken underfoot. It made her look up, and she very near jumped out of her seat when she realised that she was no longer alone.

Just by her arm there stood a most extraordinary person: extraordinarily tall and extraordinarily fair, with an extraordinary shock of silvery hair which stood at ends like the head of a thistle, yet looked as soft as down. His cool blue eyes were regarding her as one he had not expected to meet. His jacket was the colour of the leaves she had just been picturing.

The maid blinked up at him several times. For the longest moment neither of them said a word.

"Good evening." She ventured.

He bowed his head slightly, his eyes still boring into her.

"You are a fairy?"

This he met with silence.

"What is your name?"

His elegant mouth curved into a smile which made her vaguely uncomfortable. She grinned awkwardly. This seemed to satisfy him.

"Good evening!" He said finally. "I must say I am glad to find myself in the service of such a fair young lady."

His hand moved as though to touch her neck or cheek. The girl shifted away ever so slightly, noting the shadow of irritation which flitted across his face, she took in a deep breath.

"I hope you will forgive me, Sir, but I am afraid I have called you here quite by accident." His smile shrank, but did not falter. "That is not to say that I am not deeply honoured to make your acquaintance -" His mouth curved once more. "- but unfortunately I do not require your service. Not to mention..." She added quickly as that graceful curve subsided. "I am certain that such a noble person as your esteemed self would not wish to be in association with a housemaid such as I."

His entire face brightened finally, and her breathing returned. "My!" He gasped. "What a delightful creature you are!" He touched her cheek now, and she dared not move away. "So full of humility - a virtue I am partial to myself - I can understand that of course you meant to summon me here to help you."

She shook her head. "I am sorry, Sir, but I didn't. I simply read the spell to myself; I did not know that it would bring you here so easily -"

"Don't be absurd!" He interjected. "Of course you meant to call for me. Why else would you be reading such a spell?"

She opened her mouth to answer, but found none. It was true that she had always wanted to meet a fairy, but under entirely different circumstances - preferably not in her nightgown. She nodded. This delighted him.

"How simple you humans are, that you even need your own desires explained to you!" He offered his hand and she felt compelled to take it. As he helped her to stand, his gaze drifted over her in a way that made her wish she had stayed in bed.

"I admit, I do not know what I want." She said shyly. "That is to say, I have always wanted to meet one of the Fair Folk." She drew in a sharp breath as he brushed stray strands of auburn hair away from her face. "Yet I never considered what I would ever ask of them."

"I believe I already know." He tilted her chin so that she was looking directly into his eyes. He seemed to drink in the sharp grey of her own for a moment, before deciding to circle the rest of her. She remained perfectly still. "I can see that you are not quite what you appear. Indeed, I believe that you may be of high birth. Not so high as I, of course, but it is clear that your family has been dealt a severe injustice by these uncouth English invaders."

This stirred something in her, a slow-burning fire that was always there, ready to ignite. She thought of the masters she was forced to obey, the language she could not speak aloud on pain of death, the little box of forbidden things locked beneath her bed, the painting of Cromwell hung with reverence in the living room. The the light that came to her mother's eyes when she spoke of the rebellion, and the blow to her spirit that was apparent when it was crushed. The maid's hatred for her oppressors flared up; she could ask this gentleman to wipe them off the face of the Earth...

But wha would he ask for in return? She shook her roiling thoughts away and met his gaze.

"Forgive me, Sir." She said. "But you still have not told me your name."

The gentleman's composure faltered for an instant. She thought she saw shock register on his face. Clearly this was a question she was not supposed to ask. He had deflected it once before, but this time she held her ground, and eyed him until he answered.

"You may call me whatever you wish." He said with a bow. There was a tension in his features which had not been there before.

This was still not a response, but she accepted it. "I shall call you Greencoat, if that is acceptable to you?"

He inclined his head in consent.

"And you may call me Miss, if you wish." It was what the people in the house called her, but it was not the name her mother had given her. A false name for a false name.

The gentleman regarded her cooly; when it comes to magic, a name - any name - is a potent thing.

"I must say," She was in charge of the conversation now, and she knew it. The gentleman's smile had disappeared and he was now regarding her with an expression of combined agitation and curiosity. "I cannot make a request of you until I am quite certain about what I should ask..." She was, in fact, being incredibly astute; she knew the ways of fairies and had no desire to fall prey to them. Of course she could not say this to the gentleman. "So I must request that we defer this conversation -"

"But of course!" He exclaimed with forced cheer. "How incredibly clever you are, not blurting out your needs like some greedy imbecile." He was walking around her again and this time Missy did not think to adjust her shawl before - "But my lady!" He gasped. She started, feeling his fingertip on her exposed back. "You are hurt!"

She pulled the material tight and turned to face him. He was painted with a new expression now: anger? Astonishment? "It is nothing."

"Quite the contrary!" He objected, not bothering to control his features. "Some barbarian has disfigured your most beautiful back!"

"I have a sharp mouth and a master keen with a lunging whip, that is all." She explained. "There's nought to be done about it."

"I could kill him for you." The ease with which he said this startled her. For a moment she imagined that the welts on her back and shoulders had begun to sting again. She was half tempted to agree...

"But what would you ask for in return?"

He grinned, showing two rows of perfectly straight, perfectly white teeth. "Only that you should attend a ball at my house."

Her caution returned. She had grown up listening to tales of people who were whisked away by fairies, never to be heard from again. She knew she should not deny him outright, however, and said. "But I cannot dance... That is to say I have never..." She allowed her words to trail away.

"I should be most glad to teach you." His hand went to her waist, as though he was keen to begin the lesson right away.

She blushed and stepped away. "Please give me some time to think on it."

He retracted his hand and regained both an indifferent expression and a detached stance. "As you wish, Missy. And when shall we meet again?"

The way he said her name brought gooseflesh out on her arms. "I shall return to this room in a week's time."

He smiled and was gone.


	3. Chapter 3

The week passed quickly - far too quickly for her liking. She had written down, scratched out, edited and thrown away multiple drafts of the same wish, having found a way for the Gentleman to twist each and every one of them. Missy was, in all honesty, wishing she had never read that spell in the first place. It seemed certain that she would now have a constant companion in the Gentleman of the Greencoat.

When the night finally came that she meant to meet him again, she laid in her bed for a long time, considering what he might do if she did not turn up. Eventually concluding that he would most likely come to her, she rolled out of bed and took up her shawl once more.

Upon entering the library, she sensed something in the air, accompanied by the scent of young leaves. She found the Gentleman standing by the desk, apparently waiting for her.

"You are late." He said.

"And you have changed your jacket." She responded. She turned her face away meekly. "I thought you looked very fine in the green one."

In the blink of an eye his blue jacket turned green.

"You have decided?"

"Yes." She unfolded a piece of paper and considered it for a moment. "But I am afraid it is quite detailed and I would like you to hear the whole thing before you respond."

He spread his hands in a gesture of delight and came toward her. "I am entirely at your disposal, my dear."

"Well..." She cleared her throat. "I have thought a great deal about your offer to kill the master of this house, and I have decided that it would not do." His hands dropped. "That is to say, if the master were to die, one of his relatives would simply take his place: most likely his younger brother, who is really no better than himself. It would be selfish of me to replace a man who has harmed me with another who has, and will no doubt continue to harm the other girls residing here." The Gentleman scowled at this, and Missy took comfort in the realisation that this was not directed at her. "No, Sir, it would be best to destroy the family as a whole."

This caused the Gentleman to laugh with delight. "Kill the entire family, of course!"

"I have not finished." Missy was gaining confidence now, and was pleased to see the Gentleman tilt his head attentively. "I do not wish to kill them, Sir, I wish to ruin them so that they will be removed from speech and time. And the only way we can achieve this is by causing one of them to bring momentous shame to the family name itself."

His eyes glitter merrily. His mouth curled of its own accord.

"The son should be homosexual." She looked at him.

"But he is already homosexual." The Gentleman stated. "I could have him -"

"I do not wish to harm him." Missy insisted. His eyebrow cocked in the manner of someone surprised to hear so. "He can be a little brat on occasion but that is the fault of his parents, who teach him such behaviour. In truth he is a sweet boy and I wish him all the happiness in the world. However, he should be so proudly homosexual that he will refuse to marry a proper wife. He should cavort with men for all the world to see. He should be so happy that the rain of slander bombarding this house should demolish it. And when his parents have disowned him, he should run away to the Continent and continue to shame them from afar."

The Gentleman chuckled softly as she finished. This time when he caressed her cheek, she did not shy away, but stayed steadily regarding him. "I should be glad to do this for you."

"And in exchange?" She pressed.

"My desires remain the same." He told her. "I merely wish you to dance with me."

She knew she should not refuse, at least not in an obvious way. She looked away. "The truth is, Sir, that I am not inclined to accept such a proposal." He drew his hand away and she shut her eyes. When nothing happened to her, she looked at him and saw the disappointment in his face. With trembling hands she reached up and adjusted the scarves at his neck (which needed no adjustment). "I hope you will understand, that before my father died he told me to marry well, to ensure that his grandchildren did not grow up as I have..." His expression told her that he did not see what this had to do with him. "As far as marrying goes, well...the best lads are wont to choose the purest of girls, as I'm sure you and know." He continued to regard her blankly. She laid her hands flat against his chest. "Sir, if I were to accept your invitation...in the presence of one so handsome and charming as yourself..." She lowered her head and drew a deep breath, as one forcing herself to tell a hard truth. "...I am certain I would forget to keep my virtue."

"My dear..." The Gentleman's soft breath brushed her ear and she shivered. "There is no need to apologise. I had thought as much to myself, when I first witnessed your hesitation."

She looked up now, and seeing how close he was, decided it would be prudent to move away. "This is not to say that I would never go, and indeed it would be nice if you could find the time to visit me on occasion." She glanced at him and found him smiling almost kindly. "Truth be told, the servants in this house are pleasant enough, though they are not known for their engaging conversation...I should be glad of the company."

The Gentleman spread his hands in delight once more. "It is agreed, then, I shall visit you every day hereafter, and when you finally decide to join me at my house, you shall be most thoroughly welcome!"

Missy did not like the idea of dealing with such a fairy every day, but as it seemed he was determined to keep up their acquaintance, she gave in. Before he could touch her again, she strode over to the desk and produced a pen and some half-dried ink from the drawers. After scrawling an illegible signature on the page, she offered the pen to the Gentleman. He first looked at it and then at her.

"Greencoat will do." She said, waving it at him.

He returned to his usual neutral expression and took it. He signed 'Greencoat' on the page with a great deal of flourishes and embellishments. She smiled sweetly. "Until tomorrow, then."


	4. Chapter 4

The Gentleman with the Thistle-down Hair was not at all impressed with the female magician's treatment of him, and expressed his dissatisfaction on several occasions within the past week to Stephen Black. Stephen, who had been around hundreds of gentlemen who are used to getting what they want during the course of his life, knew that when such moods took the fairy it was best to pretend to listen and agree with everything the gentleman said. Unfortunately for Stephen, most gentlemens egos recovered from bruising after three or four bouts of grumbling, but the Gentleman with the Thistle-down Hair had made it the main topic of conversation for eight days straight.

Stephen was getting a little tired of the subject.

"She is the most insolent person I have ever met!" Stephen had suggested a walk through a particularly beautiful forest in whatever country they happened to be visiting, when the warm hues of the autumn leaves had reminded the gentleman of the lady in question. "I tell you, Stephen, she is not worth my attentions!"

"Indeed, Sir."

"A housemaid, Stephen! Nothing but a housemaid, and she thinks she can order me about like a slave! I am the King of Lost Hope-"

"But you said yourself, Sir," Stephen interrupted before he could begin naming all of his realms. "she is of high birth. Possibly of a noble family -"

"But she is a mere housemaid now!"

"And I am just a butler, yet my high birth has been the source of your friendship towards me, which I am eternally grateful for -"

"But that is just it, Stephen!" The Gentleman cried. "You are grateful! You recognise the honour that I have bestowed upon you by choosing to be your friend!" Suddenly, he gave Stephen a thoughtful look. "But that is just it! How wise you are, Stephen!"

"I am sure I have not said anything, Sir-" Stephen began, afraid of whatever whimsical thought had taken over the gentleman's mind.

"You shall come with me to our next encounter!" The Gentleman decided. "By your example, this girl shall learn that even kings such as ourselves must be humble beings!"

Stephen had no desire to meet the gentleman's newest fixation. "I am afraid she would not like me much, Sir."

"Oh not at first!" The Gentleman agreed. "She shall be jealous of both your grace, and our undying friendship, fickle creature as she is. But we should endeavour to teach her proper manners!"

"Of course, Sir. I shall try my best to be of help." If there was a hint of a sigh in his voice, the gentleman did not notice it.

So it was that that very evening Stephen found himself standing in a squat little library

in Lesson Street, Dublin. He was gazing out of the window, watching some young men kick a ball across the deserted street, when the gentleman huffed loudly. The lady was clearly late, and as the melancholy bell of Lost Hope rang and rang, she did not appear.

It was almost three in the morning when the door edged open, and a young woman entered the room, clearly roused from her night's sleep. Seeing her now, Stephen understood the gentleman's obsession better. Though she was dressed plainly, she had the refined features so often attributed to nobility. Her face was a perfect oval, with smooth white skin and striking grey eyes. A tumbling mass of auburn hair gave a wildness to her look, and an alluring depth to her beauty. She smiled when she saw the gentleman; a simple movement which transformed her entire face, and Stephen felt that whomever that smile was directed at would do anything she asked, just to see it again.

She extended her arms out to the gentleman, as though to take his hands, but stopped short when she saw Stephen. Straightening in an instant, her gaze flitted between them, as one expecting to be introduced. When the gentleman failed to do so, she took it upon herself.

"Good evening." She said with a curtsey. "You are a friend, expect. Forgive me, but I did not know you would be coming."

He bowed. "My name is Stephen Black, miss -"

"Missy." She added, with a giggle. "Are you also from fairy?"

The Gentleman scoffed. "What a simple girl! Can you not see that he is one of your own race?"

"Oh really?" She smiled again. "Would you like some tea?"

"No thank you, I don't care for it." The Gentleman answered.

"I was talking to ." Missy retorted.

Stephen drew in a sharp breath, expecting tohe poor girl to be reduced to dust. The air grew still, and he noticed that the gentleman was staring at him,

expectantly awaiting his response. "Yes, please." He managed.

The maid hurried off to the kitchen. In the meantime, the gentleman had a lot to say. "Do you see how impudent she is, Stephen? How rudely she speaks to me!" He hissed. "And you! Offering you tea! Like a commoner come in off the streets. She should be serving you only the finest of food and drink!"

"I am rather fond of tea, Sir." Stephen admitted.

"And how well you meet such insults!" The gentleman said. "Why I know a good many kings of lesser esteem who would -"

Presently, the door opened once more, and Missy entered carrying a tray bearing a teapot, cream, sugar, three teacups, and a plateful of biscuits. "I know you said you don't take it, Sir." She said to the gentleman. "But I don't like to leave you with nothing." The gentleman watched as she poured three cups.

She was interrupted in stirring milk and cream into Stephen's drink by the sound of voices outside the door. There was a dull thump, and the sound of a woman whimpering. Stephen hadn't a chance to ask what it might be before Missy had darted out the door. He glanced anxiously at the gentleman, who was watching the door steadily. There were voices in the hall - one of them Missy's - and they were all raised in argument. The door crashed open and Missy flew in, dragging a Negro maid by the hand. The second girl's dress was askew, as though someone had tried to drag it off her. The two pressed themselves firmly against the door as Missy turned the key in the lock. A hammering came, and the slurred shouts of a drunken man.

"Annie!" Missy pulled the dress back over the weeping girls shoulders. "Annie are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, Missy." The maid who was apparently Annie sobbed. "God bless you, if you hadn't come...he…"

"Shhhh." Missy laid the girls head against her shoulder and let her cry. The gentleman was thoroughly engrossed in them.

As soon as Annie's crying had subsided, Missy sat her down by the desk and pushed a cup and a biscuit into her hands. The pawing at the door continued, and Stephen feared for the two women who would either be locked in all night, or fall victim to brutal hands. The gentleman watched Missy, who had pulled some folded papers out of papers and was now sifting through them. When she came to the one she was searching for, she fixed her eyes on the page and muttered the words to herself in a voice so low that no-one else could hear.

A strangled cry from without, and something heavy fell against the door. Followed by silence. Missy went to turn the handle and Annie jumped up to stop her. She paused in her stride with a look from the senior maid, who had already turned the key. When the door opened, Stephen came to Annie's side, and saw that which nearly made her faint; a man (the master's brother) lying lifeless in the hallway.

Stephen and Annie were both shaken, but Missy was not. She grabbed Annie by the hand and dragged her to the door. "Go back to bed!" She ordered.

"But Missy...I…" Annie was staring wide-eyed at the body. "...I can't leave you…"

"What do you think he'll do to you if he finds you here?" Missy took Annie by the shoulders and shook her. "You need to get back upstairs, go to bed and pretend saw nothing. Do you hear me, Annie?"

The Negro girl started to cry again. "Thank you, Missy." She flew up the stairs.

Missy returned to the desk and said something which made the tray and its contents vanish into thin air. She then handed a biscuit to Stephen. "You look a little pale."

Stephen and the gentleman with the thistle-down hair both watched silently as Missy turned the body around and dragged it slightly over the threshold. She then went to the shelves and plucked up a book on the history of British warfare - exactly the kind of book that this particular man would have read - and placed it by his hand.

"What on earth are you doing?" The gentleman eventually asked.

"Setting the scene." Missy replied, before letting out an ear-piercing shriek.

She dashed up the stairs, calling her master's name, waking the whole house. The was a flurried banging of doors and stomping of footsteps as people came running. The master of the house appeared at his brother's side, followed closely by his wife and a teary-eyed Missy. There was such a commotion that Stephen felt impolite watching, and turned his back on the doorway.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was holding up a sheet of paper, a broad grin splayed across his face. "What is that, Sir?" Stephen asked hesitantly.

"Oh, just something the lady dropped."

His amusement was so apparent that Stephen was urged to inspect it. Peeping over the edge, he felt a chill creep over him at the sight of the title, still stamped out very clearly in black ink:

TO STOP A MAN'S HEART


	5. Chapter 5

The maid's actions on that night seemed to have elevated her status in the eyes of the gentleman with the Thistle-down Hair. At least, his complaints regarding her obnoxious (so he perceived it) nature were interspersed with praise regarding her quick and self-sacrificial behaviour. "In that instant she reminded me so much of myself, Stephen. You could not imagine it!"

"No, Sir." Stephen, startled by his own response (triggered, no doubt, by his exhaustion on the subject), looked quickly to the gentleman, but he was too busy rattling away on yet another tangent to have noticed the insult.

This morning, the master's little son had woken up complaining of an upset stomach. Missy, who had heard him crying for his mother, went immediately into his room. Ignoring his insists that he wanted 'Mama' and not an ugly drunkard, she felt his forehead and found it hot. She sent for his mother and as soon as he saw her he began to cry and vomited all over the carpet.

So Missy was sent to Donnybrook, to fetch a Doctor Lyons, whose family had been treating the ailments of the Fitzgeralds for generations. She sent for Stout, a gigantic oaf of a horse who was generally used to pull the carriage out of ditches and other such things. His gentle nature and considerable stamina had made him a favourite for errands, but he was most partial to Missy, who stroked him and spoke soft words to him. Sometimes she would even slip him some sugar. Missy was the only person who could coax more than a clumping trot out of him. So it was that when she got up on him (first by clambering up onto the fence that guarded the cellar entrance, then hefting herself onto his barrel of a back) and urged him into a fast canter, half the heads on the street turned in astonishment.

They were just thundering into Donnybrook village when the air changed. Missy felt herself jolted as Stout came to an abrupt halt. She was about to leg him on when she noticed that everything else had stopped as well. The gentleman appeared at Stouts head.

Missy made no effort to hide her vexation. "I do not have time for this!"

The Gentleman tilted his head at this, his extravagant eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly. "Let us walk." His voice remained cool.

"No!" She refused. "I need to get to the doctor!"

One brow lifted. "Are you ill? I could -"

"No! No!" She protested, nudging in vain at her horse's sides. "The boy..."

"He will be fine." The Gentleman insisted. "You know children - they bounce." A hint of a smile. "Well, depending on how far you drop them."

Missy glared at him.

"I shall leave them frozen until you return."

She gave in; once the gentleman was taken by one of his notions, it was nigh impossible to refuse him. He helped her down off Stout, which required him to half-catch her, as it was equivalent to dropping down from a particularly high wall and she stumbled against him slightly as she landed. She was surprised at how easily he righted her, and wondered if she had imagined him lifting her and placing her on her feet like a doll.

"Thank you." She mumbled. "Where are we going, anyway?"

"I was thinking we should make for the doctor's office." The Gentleman replied as though it was his own original idea.

Missy bit back a sarcastic remark in favour of: "You haven't brought your friend this time."

The Gentleman turned to her with a smile. "What a wonderful idea!"

Stephen Black suddenly appeared before them, holding a silver knife and a polishing cloth and trying not to seem irritated.

"Stephen!" The Gentleman exclaimed. "The lady has requested your accompaniment on our walk!"

Stephen and Missy shared looks of equal exasperation which he failed to see.

They walked along the middle of the road, as it was interesting to pass by all of the messengers and carriages, without having to worry about being hit by one of them. The gentleman appeared to be thinking about something and for a few minutes Stephen and Missy revelled in the blessed silence.

"Missy has got me thinking, Stephen." He eventually blurted.

Stephen gave Missy a questioning look that demanded to know what sort of thoughts she had planted in his head. When she gave him a puzzled look he was inclined to ask: "About what, Sir?"

"Why about the horrific display I subjected you to last night!"

Relief washed over Stephen's face. "I am glad you have come to realise this, Sir."

"So am I!" The Gentleman agreed. "And it is truly a credit to your good breeding that you did not mention it yourself! Though really, Stephen, such friends as we - we should not hesitate to share our true feelings with one another!"

"That is true, Sir. Yet I am sure you understand that I did not wish to offend you." Stephen replied.

"Offend me!" The Gentleman cried. "My dear Stephen! It is you who should be offended! What was the point in wasting your time with such a ritual, if in the end we did not use real children!"

Missy's stomach dropped at the same time the colour drained out of Stephens face. "Sir...I..." He stammered feebly.

"When they hit the ground they practically bounced!" The Gentleman, immersed in his dissatisfaction, went on. "And when they smashed there was no grand finale! Not a drop of blood! I tell you Stephen it was very different before! But now there is no-one left to ruin - no heirs to dispose of! No chance of a real show!"

"Red fruit." Missy said suddenly.

"What?" The Gentleman looked as though this was the stupidest thing he had ever heard.

"If you stuff them with red fruit, they'll be too heavy to bounce when they hit the ground." Missy explained. "And when they shatter, the redness will splatter like blood..."

She trailed off when she saw Stephens revulsion. The gentleman, on the other hand, burst out laughing and took Missy's hands.

"And when we are done, we can eat their insides!" He turned Missy as though they were in a dance. "My dear, how delightful!"

He held out an arm for her to twirl under, and Stephen cut in.

"Forgive me, for a moment I thought he was going to go off in search of actual children." She whispered as the gentleman with the thistle-down hair laughed and clapped.

"No, miss." Stephen replied. "That was very clever of you."

They reached the doctor's office and the gentleman allowed time to return to the village. He and Stephen disappeared without so much as a goodbye and as Missy walked home, she attempted to formulate a coherent reason as to why her horse had returned alone.


	6. Chapter 6

She made a grave mistake not two months after meeting the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. She had been sitting in the living room one night, after the gentleman and an unhappy Stephen left her to attend their nightly ball. The same afternoon, a member of the Irish Republican movement had subtly passed her a pamphlet as the returned from the south-city market with some groceries. The paper was all in Irish, so that anyone who confiscated it could not read it. Missy, excited to know that the movement was still alive, sat down that very night when everyone was asleep and read the entire thing from cover to cover.

She had just finished it, when the yowling of two cats fighting erupted from near the cellar entrance. It was a noise she particularly hated, so the ran outside and down the narrow concrete steps to the door, where one cat had been backed up into the corner by another, who was making preliminary swipes at its face. Missy stomped her foot and shooed them, and the two cats quickly dispersed in opposite directions.

With her reading sent out of mind by all the clamour, she returned to bed and did not remember the paper until the following morning, when the butler came to wake her. He told her to put on her oldest dress 'so as not to ruin anything pretty', and Missy immediately knew what was happening. He brought her downstairs, where the master and mistress made all sorts of accusations, and questioned the driver as to the pamphlets content (to his honour, he claimed that it was a collection of short stories). The master then threw the paper into the fire and told Missy to go out to the back garden.

She knew this situation well, and knelt before the back wall in silence. Annie offered her a bit to muffle any screams, which she declined. The first blow came without warning, and Missy went bolt upright as the shock travelled up her spine. The second, immediately after, threatened to force a cry from her lips, but failed. Again and again the whip cracked across her back, until she could feel no more. Finally, it happened, a lengthy pause between lashes, and she made the mistake of turning to see if it was done. The strike came down on her cheek, splitting it from mouth to ear. Light flashed before her eyes and she toppled in a daze to the grass.

She heard muffled voices around her, some of them raised. Everything was blurry and stained red. She was floating - or perhaps someone was carrying her? She felt a soft pillow under her head (against the good, left side of her face).

Someone touched her back and she wailed like a cat. They were cutting the dress away from her torso. Missy gritted her teeth against any further noise as the other servants saw to her wounds. The butler pressed a rag to her face and told her she was lucky to be alive. He dressed the gash as best he could and was gone. The driver, gentle man as he was, wept and held her down as the maids dabbed her butchered back with ointment and bound her. " 'E'n't righ'." He blubbered in his thick western accent. "Teh be a'hittin' younguns so's thee near died."

When all was done, they were called away, probably for a long talk about loyalty. The driver had to be pulled away, still whispering hoarsely "No righ'...E'n't righ'..."

Missy opened her eyes and tried to focus. She was sure she was stretched face-down on the long wooden table in the kitchen. As the mist thinned and thickened before her eyes, she thought she saw something silvery in the corner. Her consciousness wavered for an instant, only to come back steadier. This time she saw for certain that the gentleman with the thistle-down hair was standing by the table. Stephen, a little way off, was standing stockstill with his mouth pressed to the back of his hand, as one who feels ill.

The clouds drifted away as the pain drifted in, and Missy gasped for breath and shivered as one saved from drowning. "D-does...t-th-this...plea...pleasse you?" The sound staggered past chattering teeth.

"No." The gentleman's face showed nothing but pity, and mounting fury.

"Help her, then, Sir!" Stephen demanded.

"I would very much like to." The Gentleman responded. "And in exchange-"

His request was broken off by an enraged cry from the girl on the table. "No!" She shouted. "You will not make a bargain of this!"

Even Stephen looked as though he would scream at the gentleman, but as always he paid such things no heed. "All I ask," He proceeded."Is that you attend a ball..."

Stephen put his hands to his head and turned away in horror.

The pain was unbearable, but Missy would not allow herself to be caught. "One Saturday of every month," She offered. "Do this and I shall attend on the last Saturday of every month."

"Make it twice a month." The Gentleman pressed

The pain increased, and this time she suspected that it was the fairy's doing. She groaned against it and coughed. "Agreed!" She finally gasped, ignoring Stephen's fervent shaking of his head. "Two Saturdays of every month!"

"Done!"

Missy awoke to find herself lying in her bed in the cold attic room. Annie's bed was empty and there was no pain in her back. She wanted to believe that it had been a terrible dream, but the worried looks from the other servants told her otherwise


	7. Chapter 7

The incident occurred on a Tuesday, so Missy marked a rough calendar out on some scraps of paper and began to count down her last few days of freedom. She was sure that as soon as she set foot in the gentleman's house, he would never allow her to leave.

She was sweeping the front steps, contemplating dreamily about her last few days on Earth, when she felt that now unmistakable disturbance in the air that signaled the coming of the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. The street seemed to flow away, until it became a rushing river. The path sprouted grass and became a bank. The steps cracked and crumbled until they became a pile of dislodged stones on the side of the steep hill upon which she now stood.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was standing at the top of the hill. He did not greet her nor come to her, so she supposed she was supposed to go to him. She tossed the broom aside and trudged up to the crown.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" She asked breathlessly. If there was a hint of sarcasm in her voice, he did not detect it.

"Oh, just a particularly thrilling wolf hunt. I took Stephen to one before and he thoroughly enjoyed it." The gentleman gestured to Stephen, whom Missy had not noticed before. Perhaps because he was sitting on a rock near the top of the opposite slope with his head in his hands. "We thought you might want to witness this."

Missy had no desire whatsoever to see beautiful creatures slaughtered, but of course it would be pointless to say such things to the gentleman, so she took his elbow as he offered it and allowed him to guide her over to where Stephen sat. The hunt below seemed as though it had only just started, as all of the wolves were presently intact. Most of them could be heard howling and baying from the woods upon her right, but three of them could be seen on the open plain, cut off from the sanctuary of the trees by a pack of approaching hounds. A group of men was waiting for their dogs to back the poor creatures into their arms.

Missy sighed. For once, the gentleman noticed and asked. "Does this displease you?"

Ever quick to speak, Missy replied. "Well, yes, a little."

Stephen raised his head and looked at Missy hopefully.

"Why look, even is bored by the lack of chase!" She criticised.

The gentleman looked from one to the other, then laughed. "I see, well, if you want a chase…" He raised his hands.

"No!" Missy cried, a little too shrilly. She corrected her voice. "We've all seen wolf hunts before, adding a chase won't make things any more interesting."

The gentleman seemed at a loss for what to do. Missy, still wanting to see the wolves saved, stood on tiptoe and whispered something into his ear; something she did not want Stephen to hear.

The gentleman's expression transformed. His face twisted, and a peel of giddy laughter burst from his mouth. "What a _wonderful_ idea!"

The dogs disappeared almost immediately. The horses reared up and threw their masters to the ground before galloping away faster than you would have thought any horse could go. The men were left alone with the wolves, who wasted no time in seizing this opportunity. Some crawled out of the forest, others dashed over the crests of the hills. They were soon surrounded by more than twenty snarling beasts.

Stephen fought off his swoon silently, with his head between his knees. He could hear both the gentleman and the maid laughing madly. When he raised his head, he found them dancing on the hilltop.

Thursday passed without incident - more or less. When Missy went to bed, she found Annie's bed no longer in the room. the gentleman was seated in an armchair which had not previously been in the room.

"Where's Annie?" She asked, fearing the response.

"Annie has decided to take up a room with that kitchen boy she is so fond of." The gentleman answered.

"The one who shares a room with the chef?"

"Yes, the chef has found somewhere to stay on the far side of the river."

Missy looked around, expecting to find something amiss. "So this is my room, then."

"Oh yes!" He confirmed. "All yours. And so is that."

He pointed behind her, and she reeled, expecting to find something horrific. What she found was a magnificent ball gown, seemingly made out of rose petals. Here and there, it was scattered with tiny black and white jewels.

"Those are the jewels of orphans." The gentleman told her. "The black ones come from children whose lives shall never improve."

Missy, noting how far the black gems outnumbered the white ones, mumbled her thanks.

"But I'm sure this can't be meant for me." She added. "It is so extravagant. I am sure I have done nothing to earn…"

"Don't be ridiculous!" The gentleman disagreed. "You shall be my partner on this Saturday night, and I would see you in nothing else."

She thanked him again and crawled into bed, not caring that he scowled at her shortness.

The next evening he also brought a gift, and it was an entire room. Missy entered what had once been her damp, cold garrett, only to find a rich bedroom standing behind the same door. At its heart was a huge four-poster, draped with red velvets, adorned with satin and silk and other materials she could not describe. There was a fireplace facing two high-backed armchairs. A bookcase stretched all across one wall and stood floor to ceiling. A little way off from the fireplace she could see a soft sofa and an ornate dressing table.

The gentleman with the thistle-down hair was there to receive her. She rushed forward with hands outstretched. He took her and led her about her new room, allowing her to admire every detail. In the end, she was so overwhelmed with gratitude that she quite forgot how cautious she should be around the fairy, and threw her arms around him. He did not mind in the slightest, of course, and held her tightly until she remembered herself.


	8. Chapter 8

Her final day came and went in the blink of an eye. Missy trudged up to bed with a heavy heart and knotted stomach. She knew she should at least try to sleep. She rested her head on the pillow and thought of all of the things that she would miss from this world. She wondered how the other servants would organise themselves when she was gone. _Patty should be in charge,_ she mused. _Should I leave a note? What would be the purpose..._

Such thoughts proved frightfully tiring, and she fell asleep without noticing.

Someone was ringing. Missy groaned and turned over in her bed. Someone else could get up. The ringing continued. She grumbled something about laziness and hid under the covers. It came louder than ever, so she put a pillow over her head and blocked her ears. It was then that she realised the cold little noise was coming from inside her head, and remembered her bargain.

Sliding slowly out of the high bed, she sat on the floor and looked to where the girl gown was hanging on the back of the door. Only it wasn't. It was on her. How had she not noticed that before? As much as she hated the gentleman with the thistle-down hair in that moment, she could not help admiring the effortlessness of his magic.

She rose with great effort and found that the sound of the sound of the bell, now ringing more urgently, was pulling her forward. She found herself in the hall after what seemed like only two steps. Not only did the hall seem shorter, but all of the staircases twisted upwards, all of the passages shrank away until only a mouse could squeeze through them and all of the doors led into a grey nothingness.

In the middle of the landing, there stood a long golden mirror which had not been there previously. It was as high as any of the doors and as clear as looking into the real world. Missy stopped before it, thinking she had seen someone else there, and gasped to see her own reflection. It was no longer the image of a scruffy, tired maid. Dressed in a most exquisite gown, with her hair styled in a most fashionable way and scattered with sparkling gems, she looked like someone else entirely.

A cool breeze struck her back. Turning, she found herself in a vast courtyard littered with bones. Before her stood an imposing, yet crumbling house. There were lights in all of the windows and music playing within. It seemed like the most inviting thing in all the world. Yet for an instant there was a flicker along its facade, and Missy saw that it was, in fact a hill that looked like a house.

"Sídhe." The word rose to her lips out of deep memory

The hall was filled with people dancing. She spotted Stephen Black enjoying the company of a woman with a sparrows nest in her hair. Or was the nest her hair and the sparrows simply utilised it? All of the attendees appeared to be fair folk of varying colours and shapes, each of them attractive in their own particular or peculiar way.

At the end of the dance, Stephen freed himself from the arms of his admirer and made his way over to Missy.

"Oh I do wish you had not made that bargain!" He said, taking her hand.

"As do I Stephen." She replied. "But there's nought to be done for it now."

Stephen made as though to reassure her, and then changed his mind. _He doesn't see the point in lying._

 _"_ Where is the gean cánach?" She asked, arching her neck to see over the crowd.

"The what?" Stephen gave her a blank look.

Missy put a hand to her lips, as a child does when they say a bad word.

"The Gentleman." She corrected.

"Oh." Stephen said. "He's dancing with the Lady Pole."

Missy followed his gaze to see the Gentleman leading a sorrowful-looking woman through the dance. The name was familiar, somehow.

"...isn't That the woman brought back from the dead?

" !" said Stephen. "It would be better if he left her dead! No, he made a deal with a fairy to bring her back and now she and I must spend every night here."

" _Every night!"_ Missy's fear mounted once more.

Presently, the dance ended. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair and his companion strode over to join them. She was a very pretty young thing, but the sorrow painted across her face made Missy look away.

"I am so glad you could join us!" He chirped happily.

Missy glared at him. The gentleman saw this and turned to Stephen. "I hope you are keeping her company."

"Yes, Sir. As best I can, Sir!" Stephen responded like an obedient servant.

"Well she seems to be bored!" The Gentleman said in an accusatory tone. "Why don't you dance with her!"

Stephen's face pulled into an unnatural smile. "Ah excellent idea, Sir."

"Come." The gentleman put his hand to the Lady Pope's waist. She looked as though she did not want to go anywhere with him.

"The nerve!" Missy huffed, folding her arms.

"I beg your pardon?" The Gentleman was clearly taken aback.

"You are quite determined to make a woman jealous, aren't you?" She folded her arms.

"Whatever do you mean?" The Gentleman blinked at her.

"I mean." She fixed him with a stronger glare. "I only come here twice a month, yet when I arrive, you are not here to receive me. You left that to Stephen, who has been attempting to lift my spirits while you ignored me..."

The Gentleman looked very much as though he would like to shrink into his coat.

"...And when I think you're finally coming over to ask me to dance, off you go again!" She gestured widely at the gentleman and the Lady Pole. She thought she saw him flinch as one expecting a blow. "I don't see why you were so eager for me to come at all!"

The Gentleman, Stephen, and Lady Pole were all staring at her. Stephen's face was contorted as one witnessing a murder (or about to), the lady seemed engrossed, as for the Gentleman; so everyone's shock, he bowed.

"My lady." He said timidly. "I have been unspeakably rude. I had no idea you felt so. It is a credit that you did not say so sooner. I am certain that the Lady Pole would not mind changing partners while you are here."

He removed his hand from the lady's waist and offered it to Missy, took it with a delighted expression.

As they disappeared among the other dancers, the Lady Pole turned to Stephen Black and asked. "What on Earth did she say to him?"

"I do not know." He replied. "I have never heard such a language."

Missy found that although she could never dance before, under the gentleman's roof it came to her as naturally as breathing. He did not speak to her while they danced, but gazed at her so intently that she would often blush and look away. She wondered how the Lady Pole had endured this for so long.

At the end of the first dance, he took her aside, away from the other guests. Missy was about to ask where they were going, when he stopped in the shadow of two cracked pillars.

"What of your father?" He whispered.

Surprised that he had remembered this, Missy stared at him. Why was he asking? Did he not realise that he had coerced her into coming in the first place? Why did he care?

"I have decided that I shall break my promise." She told him. "I would rather give my help to the rebellion than get married anyway..." She stopped. That last part had fallen out. And had she said _pósta_ instead of _married?_ She searched for the lady and Stephen in the crowd. Had she spoken Irish in front of them?

Something about this place was pulling the language out of her lips, and Missy felt terrified. What if the lady told someone?...Missy shook herself. _No-one would believe her anyway. They all think she's mad, and we live thousands of miles apart..._

The Gentleman was saying something to her. She blinked the dark thoughts away.

"I beg you, do not be jealous." He whispered in her ear. "I promise you that whenever you are here, I shall not be convinced to dance with anyone else."

She put on her sweetest smile. "How compassionate you are."

Then, because it seemed like something a jealous woman would do, she placed a single kiss upon his cheek


	9. Chapter 9

For the next week, neither the gentleman with the thistle-down hair nor Stephen Black visited Missy. She came to believe that she had made some terrible errors at her first ball at Lost Hope and quietly congratulated herself.

So it was that when she walked into her room that Friday evening and found a dark, lofty dining hall in its place, her disappointment was unfathomable. The gentleman appeared out of the shadows and put his hand around her waist, and not one, but two well-bred ladies could be found seated at the table with Stephen.

The gentleman sat at the head of the table, with Stephen upon his right and Missy upon his left. Before them was laid a feast fit for one hundred; roasted wyvern, self-cooked phoenix stuffed with the forbidden fruit, Lamb of God slow cooked over an open flame and glazed with the blood of sinners, and numerous other dishes uncountable. Missy, only having eaten some bread and broth for dinner, piled her plate high. She tried to offer the Lady Pole, who was sitting next her looking characteristically forlorn, some phoenix, but the woman looked at her as though she had two heads.

She repeated herself, and the Lady shook her head dismissively and resumed her gazing into space. Missy looked around in confusion.

"She doesn't speak that language, my dear." The Gentleman explained calmly. "You might want to try English."

"Oh, I'm dreadfully sorry!" She exclaimed. She looked again to the Lady Pole. "I was asking if you would care for some of this phoenix: it's very good!"

The lady's expression turned to disgust. "No thank you!" She growled. "I haven't the stomach for such things."

Missy returned the large leg to its dish and focused on her food. The gentleman laid his hand on hers and whispered. "I am so very glad to see you attempting to make amends."

"Could you pass some of that over here?" The other woman called across the table.

Missy looked at her blankly until she nodded at the phoenix leg. She picked it up with the tongs and set it on the other lady's proffered dish. She smiled kindly and Missy and said. "My name is Arabella."

"Missy."

"And how did you come to be here, Missy?"

"I was grievously hurt and..." A moment of self-pity washed over her, and her words disintegrated.

Arabella nodded. She understood the rest. They all understood why they sat around a table laden with hellish cuisine.

"This poor lady's husband bargained her away." The Gentleman added matter-of-factly.

Missy looked to Arabella, who was looking at her plate while she chewed. As soon as she had swallowed, she retorted. " would do nothing of the sort."

Missy jumped at the name. "You're Jonathan Strange's wife?" She exclaimed, her face full of hope. When she noticed the gentleman with the thistle-down hair watching her, she switched to worry. "Are you insane?" She hissed at him. "What do you think her husband will do to you when he discovers you have his wife?"

He patted her hand. "He shall never discover where she is. Besides, he should never have agreed to our deal if he had use for her."

Arabella began to cry quietly.

Missy looked about helplessly, wondering if she should cry, too.

The gentleman leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I promise I shall never give you away."


	10. Chapter 10

By the end of their dinner, Arabella and the Lady Pole had both clearly decided that Missy was not to be trusted. Missy, sensing their disdain, spent the rest of the evening pretending to be engrossed in the gentleman with the thistle-down hair - who was, in fact entirely focused on Stephen and his desire to make him King of England. So, in other words, she kept mostly to herself.

"I do not know how I shall survive any more dancing!" She heard the Lady Pole groan to . "Every morning when I awake, I feel as though weights have been strapped to all of my limbs, and a fog has been placed about my head."

"I suppose I should count myself lucky that he keeps me at Lost Hope." sighed. "At least I can go on dancing for ever and ever."

"We shall find a way out." It was the most positive thing Missy had heard from the lady all evening. She turned to look at her, lady caught her eye and fell silent.

Finally, it was time for the others to attend their ball. Stephen and the ladies all departed without a word, looking solemn and tired. The gentleman kissed her hand, and then her cheek.

"Until next week." He vowed.

The hall dissolved, and her oversized room appeared. Missy curled up on the bed and stared at the wall.

That Sunday , as soon as she got up, Missy took two pages from the little pile of spells which she had stashed in the dressing table drawer. She also emptied a little tin of toffees and put it in her pocket along with the spell.

First, she went to the kitchen complaining of a stomach ache. The chef, busy preparing breakfast for the family as well as the servants, told her to help herself to the herbs.

She then went out to the garden 'for some air', and no-one paid her any heed. She was able to pluck at petals and leaves at her liberty.

The last item was the trickiest; a crystal container. She knew the mistress had a little cabinet full of crystal and China in the living room, but how could she get her hands on some without anyone noticing? The spell had to be completed before sunset, and The concoction left to sit before a mirror for at least six days.

She decided to try her luck while the family was eating breakfast, as they and most of the servants would be busy. She continued to complain of stomach problems, and excused herself from the service.

The living room was empty, but the large cabinet stood across from the two massive doors, which were always kept open. She would have to turn her back on the hallway, which she did not like. Casting a quick muffling spell, she darted past the sofa and armchairs. The display was quite grand, and Missy despaired to see that the crystal containers all appeared to be large carafes, far too big to remove without notice. Just at the back, however, was a small oil bottle. It was tucked in among the grander pieces, possibly because it was quite plain and would never impress any of the Fitzgeralds' guests, so getting it out involved a lot of carefully removing and replacing its neighbours. The muffling spell held true, however, and she was able to take it without a symphony of clacking and clinging, as would have occurred otherwise.

Missy placed the bottle on a near table as she closed and locked the door. As she reached to return the key to its place on top of the cabinet, a hand came down firmly on her shoulder and spun her around.

It was the butler. His mouth opened to yell, but no sound came (he was still holding Missy, and therefore still under the muffling spell). As he frantically searched for his voice, Missy slid a hand into her pocket and crunched up a dried leaf. The butler, obviously assuming she was reaching for a weapon, gave her a swift backhand to the face, which dazed her for an instant as he continued to call (or attempt to).

Missy shook the stars from her eyes and lifted the handful of powdered leaf. As soon as she blew it into the butler's face, he dropped to the floor. She snatched up the bottle and was up the stairs in an instant.

The spell proved more difficult than she had anticipated. So much so that Missy feigned illness in her room for the entire afternoon. Everything had to be done exactly; a leaf cut in a certain way with a silver knife (pilfered from the kitchen), a petal folded thusly, a sprinkle of rosemary accompanied by a verse in Latin. In the end, she had a murky, brown suspension that did not look like anything more than a couple of dirty leaves floating in dirty water. She placed it before her mirror and returned downstairs for the dinner service.

Missy had 'lain down' all day, so she was expected to relieve some of the others in the evening. First was the butler, who remembered nothing of their previous encounter and asked her how she had gotten the red mark on her cheek. She blushed and told him she had put too much sugar in the master's mid morning coffee. He tutted and strode away without another word, leaving her with a case full of silverware to polish (one knife seemed to be missing, and she reported this to the server, who had not seen it, and could not find it in neither the dining room nor the kitchen).

After the butler, she had to attend to the himself, who was drinking whiskey by the fire and always liked to have someone at hand. He also asked about the mark, and nodded approvingly when she explained that she had dropped a cup (not a China one), and the butler had disciplined , she was told to dust down the the entire living room and clean out the fireplace.

It was well after midnight when she finally staggered up the stairs, and Missy was not at all surprised to find the gentleman with the thistle-down hair in her room. She was made slightly uneasy by the interest he was showing in the bottle on her dressing table, however.

"Please don't touch that!" She said. "I should leave it there until Saturday, and it was such a hassle to make!"

The Gentleman did not turn around; he was peering into the liquid with some intensity. "What is it supposed to be?"

"It is a remedy for the Lady Pole." She replied.

"A remedy?" He gave her a puzzled look. "Whatever for?"

"Well, I was speaking to her the other night, and we quite hit it off." She lied. "And she asked me 'how do you cope with the tiredness?'

'tiredness?' I asked, not understanding what she meant.

'oh, when you return from fairy' she said. 'I often feel heavy and out of spirits.'"

"Why would she feel so?" He stood up straight now, and stalked over to her, as one daring someone to make an accusation.

Missy did not blink. "Well, to be honest, I felt the same way after our first dance. I thought I would never be able to pull myself out of bed. Sort of like a melancholy that weighs on all of one's limbs. I expect it has something to do with leaving such a wonderful place to come back _here."_ She gestured broadly.

"So you made this just for her?" The gentleman's expression was unreadable.

"Well, yes." Missy put on her smile.

"How very generous you are!" The Gentleman took her and turned her in sudden dance, and they both laughed as he kissed her cheeks.

As soon as the dance stopped, Missy became aware of how close his face was to hers. He paused as well, considering. His eyes darted to her lips and his mouth moved to follow.

Missy shoved him away roughly. "No!"

The Gentleman retreated. "I'm sorry!"

"Please go." It was an order.

"Maebh, I-" He stammered. "I thought you wanted-"

"GO!"

He was gone.

She sat down heavily on the bed, her mind a jumble of thoughts. He had tried to kiss her, and she was certain it was not one of his tricks. Did she want him to kiss her? She had considered it. She wondered what it might be like...

 _He called me_ Maebh

The realisation turned her insides to knew her true name. He could use it against her. _I have to discover his._ "A stalemate." She said aloud. _But is a stalemate enough?_


	11. Chapter 11

Monday passed with no visit from the gentleman with the thistle-down hair. As did Tuesday. On Wednesday, she opened her bedroom door, ready to find him, and was met with empty space. Likewise on Thursday. By Friday she almost believed that her rejection had dissuaded him.

Not a chance.

She walked into her room to find a box sitting on the end of her bed. It was about the the size of a cigar box, but that is where all similarities between the two came to an end. This box was made of gold. A pretty design had been laid over it in silver, and it had little silver feet shaped like paws.

Missy opened the box, and almost dropped it.

"Don't you like it?" She jumped. The gentleman with the thistle-down hair had appeared on the sofa.

"No...i-i meán..." She sat down beside him, still staring into the box. "It's beautiful. I just don't understand why..."

"Because No-one deserves it more than you." He stated matter-of-factly.

She felt her cheeks redden. "Where did you get it?"

"The Crown Jewels." He answered with a smile.

She laughed. "Well now I like it even more!"

He grinned. "So you do like it?"

She nodded. "Thank you very much." A thought took hold of her, and without questioning it, she leaned toward him. She hesitated, expecting him to pull away. When he did not, she pressed her lips against his.

He did not reciprocate, however, and she quickly stopped. "I'm sorry." She whispered. "I shouldn't..."

He touched her mouth with his fingertips and turned her face to him. "For your father's sake, you should not."

She lowered her eyes as one receiving sound, but unwanted advice.

"Yet I cannot help but wonder about your own sake." He stroked her lip with one sharp nail. She shivered. "What do you want?"

She looked at him for the longest time. He waited patiently. She touched his cheek, and he understood. He leaned in and kissed her, a slow, gentle kiss, as of a lover uncertain.

She buried one hand in the soft tangle of his hair as the other grasped at his jacket, pulling him closer. He was holding her tightly now, his tongue playing at her lips-

"Missy? Are you there?" Annie was rapping at her door.

With a growl, she tore away. "Yes?"

"One of the silver knives is missing. Have you seen it?"

"No!" She called, not bothering to hide her annoyance. "I was the one to discover it was gone."

"Oh, sorry. I was told to ask everyone!"

"I understand! Good night, Annie!"

"Good night!"

Missy turned to the empty space next to her on the couch and huffed.


	12. Chapter 12

Saturday loomed before her, and she was helpless to prevent it. She could not help being anxious about how the Lady Pole would receive her gift. She had to somehow convince her that she meant to help, but that would not be easy if the gentleman with the thistledown hair doted on her. Any sign of favouritism from him and the lady would be understandably suspicious of anything she told her to ingest.

The bells tolled once more. Missy crawled out of bed and picked up the bottle. By the light of the lone window set into the ceiling, she could see that the mixture had changed to a smooth, light yellow colour. It was not particularly appealing, but it was better than lumpy brown. She cradled it in the crook of her arm and made for Lost Hope.

The gentleman with the thistledown hair was waiting for her when she arrived. He was so keen on dancing that she was surprised to find him missing out on such a lively waltz. The Lady Pole and Stephen were dancing together, unspeaking and looking as forlorn as ever. Arabella was some way off with one of the gentleman's cousins.

He came to her at once, looking for all the world as though the ball had been a dull affair prior to her arrival. He took her hand and kissed it, his gaze flitting to the bottle for an instant.

"It is ready？" he asked, snaking an arm round her waist.

"I believe so." she answered. "Do you think the Lady Pole will like it？"

"How could she not？" He whispered to her, tucking her hair behind her ear. Missy saw watching them and averted her eyes. She did not want her to see the colour in her cheeks.

"But it shall have to wait a little while longer！" The gentleman told her. "I have something to show you！"

The dance ended, and the gentleman with the thistledown hair clapped his hands. When all eyes had turned to him, he announced： "Let us begin！"

So they all fell in behind the gentleman. He led them out of the ballroom and through an endless procession of hallways. He held Missy with one hand at her hip and the other holding her own hand, so that they appeared as ones partaking in a particularly slow, solemn country dance. They walked and walked in silence through the gloom, twisting and turning along a labyrinthian system of passageways.

Missy felt her legs begin to wobble and wondered how long they had been marching. It felt like hours- perhaps even days. They were climbing now; more than one thousand stairs and they were still climbing. For once, she was glad to have the gentleman there to hold her upright. And still she held the Ladys potion. A cold breeze struck her face and she saw that they had come at last to a wide, dark room. It had no windows save for a tall, narrow gap in the stones through which the cool wind whistled. The gentleman took her closer and closer to this crevice, and at once she feared he would cast her off. She stopped at once, fear showing in her face. He turned and saw. "Do not be afraid." he squeezed her hand. "I will not let you fall."

He led her over and looked down beyond the edge of the window. He then put one arm across the opening and gestured for her to look.

It was higher than Missy had ever thought possible. Down below, she could just make out the courtyard, strewn with white dots which must have been bones. The skull of a dragon was barely as big as her fingernail. She wavered, and feared she might fall. At once, the gentleman caught her and drew her away, turning her so that she faced him instead of the edge. She pressed her head against his chest and drew in a slow, deep breath. The scent of fresh leaves and bright air removed the chill from her bones. She looked up at him and smiled. "How high are we？"

"Higher than the raven flies." He answered with a grin.

The others were filing into the room. As Stephen and the two ladies entered, she removed herself from the gentleman. The three of them looked as though they knew what was going to happen.

"i am so glad you all could be here！" The gentleman with the thistledown hair declared, as though any of them had a choice. "At the suggestion of my delightful companion here..." He put a hand to Missy's back. "I have decided to hold this ceremony again sooner than previously planned. It is my sincere hope that tonight will make up somewhat for all of the subpar displays of the past century...' Two guests came forward, each carrying two distrubingly child-shaped bundles over their shoulders.

When they were unwrapped from their coverings, Missy and the others were relieved to see that they were, in fact, merely oversized wooden dolls. Their bodies were jointed loosely, so that their limbs hung limply at odd angles, and their faces had been chiseled and painted sloppily, so that they in no way resembled the real thing. In fact Missy thought them rather silly.

The gentleman called for two to be brought forward. His cousins lifted them in their arms, and Missy wondered that they seemed rather heavy. When they came to the window and hefted them out like bags of coal, she forgot her fear and leaned out to watch them fall. They hit the ground hard and shattered, splattering red goop all over the flagstones.

In spite of herself, she laughed aloud and clapped her hands. Stephen, who had not seen properly, came over. When he saw the red mess below, he fell against the wall as one fighting off a swoon.

"Don't you see？" Missy said. She picked up one of the smaller, toddler-sized dummies and showed it to him. "They're full of fruit！ Like i suggested！"

With that, she flung the doll out the window. This time, it clipped against a broken wall on the way down, spilling the contents of its head before breaking on the ground. Stephen gasped and turned pale. "That may be so, miss. But it does not take from the fact that once this was done to real children."

Missy's face fell. She had not thought of this. Looking at the two ladies, she discerned that they shared Stephens feelings. She considered the stains spreading across the stones below in a different light.

Another of the gentleman's cousins threw out the last 'child' and she watched blankly as it added to the gory mess. The guests all left almost as soon as it was finished, except for the four mortals and the gentleman with the thistledown hair. Missy was still staring out the window when the Lady Pole approached her.

"Im told you have something for me？"

Missy nodded and handed the bottle over. The Lady promptly cast it out the opening. Neither of them watched it fall, but the sound of it shattering triggered something in Missy."That was supoosed to help you, you idiot！"

"I don't need your poisons." The Lady retorted. "I dont need favours from anyone who enjoys acts of cruelty！"

Missy looked to the gentleman and felt her anger bubble and hiss like a pot boiling over. She remembered her mother's grief. Her father's death. A burnt and ransacked house. A daughter taken away and never heard from again. Three sons, burnt to death, lying in the grass. Things she had never seen. Things she had understood without being told.

"Cruelty, poison, murder, malice. How laughable that you should accuse me of such things. You know nothing of them." The voice that spoke was not Missys. It was Maebh's. "Ask your father, ask your husband and your countrymen of these things. They have much to teach you. Your hands are stained with the blood of generations past, present and future. Thou shalt not speak to me of such things; for the stench of death clings to thee."

The Lady Pole turned and left without another word. followed. Only Stephen considered her carefully before politely excusing himself.

The gentleman with the thistledown hair waited for her to speak.

"That was rude of me." Missy rasped.

"I believe honest is the word." He replied. "The Lady Pole was, in fact, quite rude. She threw your gift away."

"I didn't mean to say those things."

"But you did! You have been wanting to say them your entire life."

"But those memories... they were not mine."

"No, they were your dearly departed mothers. I thought they might help." The gentleman took her hands. "Doesn't it feel good, to say what you wish？"

Missy nodded. She had never noticed it before, but there had always been a tightness in her chest where such words had stuck. Now that she had said some of them, she felt she could breathe more easily.

"If you were to stay here, you would never have to guard your words again."

And there it was. Ah! But how clever he could be! She was impressed.

Missy dropped his hands and walked away. Keeping her back to him, she said: "So we return to it. I am still to become part of your collection."

"Collection?" The gentleman scowled as he realised what she meant. "No, my dear. You shall not be like the others. You deserve to be a queen！"

"You're making Stephen king of England and now you want to make me queen of Ireland." She laughed.

"No! No!" He growled. "Well, perhaps. In time. Would you like to be queen of Ireland?"

"Could you..." She shook her head. "No! I shall not be trapped by you, Gean Cánach!"

He seemed taken aback. "I assure you, I would never..." He flushed.

"You might not do all that the name implies, but that is what you are!" She could hardly believe that she was defying him so, but she was desperate not to become another slave to this gentleman and his endless balls.

He shook his head. "Not in this case. If you wish to go, you are free to do so. And if being Queen of Lost Hope, or Ireland, or nothing would make you happy, I shall do it."

Something in his face and voice made the accusations fall from her lips. Her image of him shifted, and she saw loneliness painted across his face. There was something pitiful about him.

Nonetheless, she did not trust him.

"I will consider it." she said.

His arms wrapped around her from behind. She allowed him to turn her, and she returned his kiss.

"That is all I ask."


	13. Chapter 13

The gentleman was absent for nigh on one week following their conversation. This gave Missy ample time to consider what he had said. She began to understand that in his own, albeit twisted way, the fairy really did believe he was helping the people he 'cared' about. This usually involved doing things that only made them feel more miserable, and trapped.

She was determined not to become any more tangled in his web, and faced the challenge of trying to find an escape. She wracked her brain for days, before coming to a difficult conclusion: the only way to stop him, was to trap him in his own web. She wasn't sure she could manipulate him properly, but she would certainly try.

When he arrived that Friday night, she threw her arms around him as one dearly missed. She kissed him fully on the lips, and retreated coyly, as someone who has caught themself doing something inappropriate. He seemed startled, yet pleased, by her reception. She caught sight of a hint of colour in his cheeks.

"Have you considered…?" He trailed off, at the moment lost for words.

She steadied herself against the bedpost and nodded. "But I have not yet made my decision."

His face fell. "Oh… in that case I suppose…"

"Don't go!" She grasped his arm urgently, sliding her palm down until he took her hand. "It's so frustrating, you know. We have barely spent five minutes together since we met."

"But my dear," He frowned. "I visit you as often as I can -"

"That's not what I mean-" She opened her mouth to say something else, blushed, and turned away.

He watched as she walked away, putting the bed between them. "What do you mean?"

She seemed unable to meet his gaze. "I mean, every time we meet, there's always Stephen, or the ladies...always someone else there."

"I thought you liked one another."

She almost laughed. He really was blind. "I like them well enough, but…" She lifted a paperweight from the desk and appeared to inspect its smooth, black surface. "But I find myself wishing we could be alone."

He tilted his head. She offered no further explanation, but sat on the bed, turning the marble orb in her hands. The gentleman rounded the bed and took it from her, placing it gently back down on the desk, he asked the question that was clawing at his chest. "What do you mean?"

She turned her face away. "You know what I mean."

"I believe I do," He sat next to her and with a single finger turned her face. "Although I would like to hear it from you."

She looked directly into his eyes, took a deep breath, and said: "I want to be the _only_ one."

He smiled, though a faint trace of shock bordered his eyes. She kissed him, and he embraced her gladly. There was something different about her kisses this time; they were hungry and passionate. The gentleman pulled away, this time obviously startled. He gave her a questioning look.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" She whispered, fingertips caressing the back of his neck.

His breathing quickened, he forgot his words, but nodded his assent. As he kissed her again, he felt her pulling him up onto the bed, her legs rising up on either side of him as he hovered above her. He slipped a hand under her skirts and listened intently to the pleasant noises she made at his touch.

He broke away just long enough to breathe into her ear: "You are sure this is what you want?"

"Yes."


	14. Chapter 14

When she awoke the next morning, the gentleman was gone. Missy slipped out of bed and padded over to the desk. The marble orb appeared black at first, but as she moved it into the sunlight cascading down from the window in the ceiling, it took on a red glow.

She moved quickly, knowing someone would be sent to wake her any moment now. Extracting a bundle from under her bed, she slipped the stone inside. She then pulled a pair of tattered breeches, a yellowed tunic and a torn brown coat. Her hair she tied up against her neck as a man might. She worked the glamour spell she had memorised quickly, and was pleased to find a teenage boy staring out at her from the mirror. She then threw a travelling cloak around her shoulder and hauled herself up out of the window.

The slates were damp with last night's rain, and the sun was rapidly scaling the horizon. She had to be careful about getting down, and keep to the western side of the gable so as to stay out of sight from the main street. Luckily, tall though the townhouse was, it was situated next to an arched lane. It was easy enough (though dangerous) to drop down on top of the arch from the roof and then lower herself onto the garden wall, from which it was merely a six foot drop onto the cobbles. Crouching in the shadows of the arch, she merely observed a homeless couple dozing on the opposite side. Maebh touched the bricks and watched as the wall melted away, revealing the inside of the stables. Stout, standing in his stall across from her, twitched his ears and whinnied apprehensively. She had him tacked in no time, and led him quietly back out into the lane. She would have to take the side roads, but it would be scarcely more than an hours ride to Stillorgan, on the outskirts of the city. She would stop there for provisions before heading up into the mountains.

The gentleman's bell rang for him. Stephen had not thought that it could sound more melancholy, but tonight there was a frailty in its chimings that made it sound pathetic. He entered Lost Hope and looked for him in the ballroom, only to find the Lady Pole and sitting on a bench somewhat apart from the dancers, quite unattended.

"Where is he?" Stephen asked, quite perplexed by the gentleman's absence.

"In his chambers." The Lady Pole replied.

"He has not been down all night." said.

Stephen rushed out of the hall and up a crooked staircase. The bell was ringing again, and grew louder, but no less feeble, as he went on. in time it was joined by another noise, which at first he mistook for laughter. As he drew closer to the gentleman's rooms, however, it became clear that someone was weeping.

He entered to find the room in startling disarray. Tables and chairs had been overturned, the mirror lay in pieces on the floor, the sofa and bedsheets looked as though a large cat had been scratching at them. The gentleman himself was no better; he stood leaning against the window frame, looking outward, body heaving with the force of stifled sobs. If his hair had resembled thistle before, it was a mass of twisted brambles now. His breeches were fine but his shirt was torn in several places - apparently by the same cat - and hung open, without a sign of scarves nor jacket. His feet were bleeding.

He whispered a faint "Stephen…" followed by something else, and turned. Stephen now saw how ill he truly was, as his skin clung, grey and dull, to his bones. Bright blue eyes gleamed feebly out from deep, dark sockets. Yet Stephen also noticed that he appeared less human. His eyes were further apart, and he seemed to be covered in a thin layer of white, downy fur. The gentleman came toward him, using the furniture to steady himself.

"Sir!" Stephen exclaimed, at once brought to both shock and pity by the sight of his captor. "What's happened to you?"

"She is gone, Stephen." The gentleman answered. "She has been taken from me. Whether by magic or… or death I do not know. I went to the house but I could not find her."

Stephen knew at once who he meant. "But who would do such a thing to her?"

"I do not know!" The gentleman sobbed, clinging to Stephen. "Her lord, or that cursed English magician! We shall have to remove him, Stephen!"

Stephens stomach turned. "Her lord, Sir?"

"No! No!" A peal of hysterical laughter erupted from the fairy. "I set the house on fire, Stephen! They're all dead now! Oh, how they screamed!"

Stephen felt the blood drain from his face. "But what has happened to you, Sir?"

The gentleman's smile thinned, a tear streaked down his concave cheek. "It's amazing, really, how quickly a broken heart can destroy someone. Even one as powerful as I. But worry not, Stephen! For I shall recover." He patted Stephens chest lightly. "The joy of your company, and the promise of revenge, shall speed my recovery onward! Mark my word, Stephen, I shall not rest until our enemies are dead and you are king!"

These words seemed to invigorate the gentleman; he stood up straight for a moment, only using one arm to prop himself up against Stephen, the light returned to his eyes. But just as soon he fell against him.

"To bed, Stephen. Please help me to bed." He was crying again. "I want to dream of happier times."


	15. Chapter 15

The gentleman with the thistledown hair remained in his bedroom for more than a fortnight. His appearance and disposition did not improve, and Stephen fancied that the glamour upon Lost Hope had faded somewhat. People had stopped dancing. The castle looked less like a castle and more like a sidhe. The ladies spoke of escape. He also wished for release, but the gentleman had always been kind to him, and he could not help being moved by his sorry state.

So he attended to the fairy every night, listening to both his mewling and his raving. He cleaned him up whenever he would allow it as well. After time, the gentleman became less distressed and more angry; which was completely natural but also terrifying. He spoke of poisoning all of Britain, of blowing up parliament and tearing down the king's castles. Still, imagining the suffering of millions seemed to raise his spirits, so Stephen kept his silence and listened to everything.

It was on one such night, when the gentleman's rage was in full throttle, when a cry from downstairs roused them both. It was followed by a laugh that sent both Stephen and the gentleman running.

The dancers now bordered the room. Some were cowering together. Others simply looked angry. The Ladies were huddled by the door, ready to flee at any given opportunity. There were two figures in the centre of the circle. One Stephen recognised as one of the gentleman's many cousins. He, too, was drained and frail as his master, and cowered before the other, who wore a long, hooded cloak and stood with his back to Stephen.

"Cousin!" The fairy cried, scrambling over to them. "She tricked me! She has taken my power!"

He hid behind the gentleman as the cloaked figure turned. Stephen saw that she was changed - her eyes brighter, hair red and shining, her skin white and gleaming in the faint light. Fierce and terrible came her laugh, and the fairies quailed.

Maebh strode forward. Seeing the gentleman's awestruck face, she smiled, revealing perfectly white, sharp teeth. "You said you would give me anything I wished for," she said, and her voice had an unearthly resonance. "And so you have; the power to help my people, and a fortress from which to wage my war." The gentleman's cousin sobbed.

Stephen saw the fury burning beyond the gentleman's gaze. He saw it boil forth as the human features of his face melted away. He opened his mouth in a roar that shook the hall. Roots burst up from beneath the floor and caught Maebh tight.

"SUCCUBUS!" he bellowed, and the roots constricted. Maebh gave no indication that it hurt at all, but dismissed her bonds with a flick of her free hand.

"Idiot!" she retorted. "Do you think I have been idle since our encounter?" The gentleman flushed. "I have consumed the power of a dozen of your kind, not to mention others." She waved her hands, and Stephen felt himself stuck to the spot. He could just about move his eyes.

"You can not touch me." Maebh approached the gentleman, as all of the other fairies faded away. He resisted her spell just enough to raise one hand in a motion that said he would strangle her if he could. She took his hand and pressed something shimmering against his palm. As she closed his fingers over it, she placed one last kiss against his lips.

"And do not think to come near Unnumbered Tears again." She said. "It is the seat of a great Queen now."

She turned as if to leave, only pausing to whisper in Stephens ear: " _He will recover in time, but never fully. The English Magician will restore the Raven Kings magic soon. As soon as he does, do not hesitate. You will be king, Stephen, but not as he intends it."_

And she was gone.

The gentleman screamed with rage, shouting something to the ceiling in his own tongue. He marched back and forth across the floor, cursing her several times. Stephen and the Ladies watched, rapt, as his anger ran it's course. Finally, the gentleman sank down on his knees, doubled over with fresh heartache. Stephen approached him cautiously and came just close enough to see what he cradled in two shaking hands - a splendid necklace of diamonds and garnet, such as a gentleman might give to his queen.

The guests reappeared, the dance went on, and still the gentleman wept.


End file.
